


Observations

by Artemis (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Edging, Exhibitionism, M/M, Masturbation, Orgasm denial/delay, PWP with a little bit of angst, Victorian ideas about sexuality, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 09:26:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Artemis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When an ex-army doctor meets a consulting detective...when a voyeur meets an exhibitionist...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Observations

**Author's Note:**

> Well, my new year's resolution was not to write any more porn, but...
> 
> For anyone who's interested the Victorian ideas about the dangers of masturbation and orgasm, the closed railway carriages and the jugum penis device are all authentic.
> 
> No copyright infringement intended - no profit made - for entertainment purposes only, so I hope that you're entertained.

It came as no great surprise to me to discover that Holmes indulged in a vice which my profession condemned. I indulged in it myself, infrequently, between my shadowy visits to certain houses of ill-repute. That is not something of which I am particularly proud, but I was a young, single man with all the base biological needs of my sex.  If it discomforts me now I am married and in my middle years at least it does not not shame me. The shame is in the secret life I shared with Holmes and the memories of those days still haunt me.

I have set them down in a code of his devising and and I shall lock these papers in a strong box; never to glimpse daylight, but to be buried in a bank's vaulted tomb.

We were never unnatural lovers. We never kissed with Greek passion or made the beast with two backs. It was darker and more insidious than that.  There was a twist in his nature and a matching one in mine.   I had only been resident at Baker Street for a few weeks when it became apparent.  The first time I walked in upon him I could scarcely believe what I was witnessing.   Holmes sat on the sofa, still in his nightshirt and robe, with his hand moving under the bundled up cloth.  My shock and embarrassment amused him greatly.  However, he apologised graciously for any distress he had caused me.

His own lack of shame amazed me almost as much as his open indulgence in that most secret of vices.  Perhaps one was symptomatic of the other since his actions were widely thought to be the result of a disease of the mind. Yet his mind was the sharpest I had ever known, a razor edge of intellect and observation that I could only admire. As the whole world knows I became his friend and chronicler, but there were facets of his character, and of mine, which were utterly unfit for publication.

On the second occasion we were both seated in our sitting room on an unseasonably cold April evening.  It was late enough for us to have drawn the curtains and lit the lamps.  Holmes stretched out in an armchair with one arm folded behind his head. I was engrossed in ‘The Times’ and at first I did not notice what he was about.  It was a sigh and a restlessly shifting of his long legs that alerted me.  Even before I looked up I knew what I would see and sure enough he had his right hand under his nightshirt.

I quickly averted my gaze from the bulge at his groin. “Dear God, Holmes, if you must do that can’t you at least have the decency to do it in the privacy of your bedroom?”

“I prefer the warmth of the fire, to say nothing of your good companionship.” He gave me a thin smile. “You know, even on so short an acquaintance, that I am not conventional in my habits and I hoped that you would be cosmopolitan enough not to object. “

That was where I ought to have objected most strongly, but I did not and the die was cast.

The best I could was to bring him an article from ’The Lancet’ which warned of the dire physical and mental consequences of his actions.  Holmes read it though with barely a raised eyebrow.  Then he laid it aside and favoured me with a smug smile. “I appreciate your concern, Watson, but it is sadly misplaced. There is nothing in that article of which I was not already aware.  The primary danger is the depletion of the reservoir of semen, is it not?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Then you need not fret on my account, old fellow. As you are aware I masturbate frequently, but I very seldom allow myself to have an emission.”

I stared at him blankly. “How can you…and not…”

“I simply desist when the urge to spend myself becomes too great.”  He uncurled his long limbs and strode over the fireplace where he refilled his pipe. “Believe me I have no wish to suffer the ill-effects of constant depletion of my reserves, but I find great pleasure in self-simulation. It is a wonderful antidote to boredom.”

I didn’t know how to respond. He really ought not to be telling me this. I wasn’t his physician, but then he shouldn’t be masturbating in my presence either.  Nor should I have tolerated his blatant self-abuse. Yet I had no wish to seek other lodgings and I had already developed an affection for him.

So the weeks spiralled into months and then into years. His secret became our secret, one for long summer nights and dark winter evenings.

Not that Holmes was particular, if the urge took him and he could find sufficient seclusion he would frequently pleasure himself when there were no other distractions to be had. A long, low shiver sweeps through me as I remember our railway journey down to Dawlish. The case turned out to be commonplace and not worth recording, but the train ride in that closed carriage is etched into my memory.

Even in those days trains with corridors that connected the swaying carriages were becoming more common, but many of the old type still ran. Such was the train that we got at Paddington, a long serpent of self-contained carriages which one could only board and alight from at stations. We were less than twenty minutes into our journey and the grimy terraces of London were still flashing past when Holmes sat back in his seat and reached for the buttons on his trousers.

“There’s little else to do, Watson,” he said in answer to my disapproving stare.

“You could read a newspaper.” I had purchased several at the WH Smiths stand on the station. I gestured at the window. “What if someone sees you?”

“My lower body is below the level of the window and to an observer we are merely a fast moving blur.” He slid his hand into his trousers. “Do you have any other objections?”

It was far too late for moral outrage. I shook my head and picked up ‘Reynolds Newspaper’. With all the stubborn determination of long practice I ignored what he was doing to himself. That wasn’t too difficult at first. His movements were slight and there was only a tiny catch in his breathing. I even went as far as to read him a couple of articles from the newspapers. Holmes seemed intrigued by an unsolved murder in Stepney. He tilted his head back and shut his eyes, but that attitude of relaxation was belied by the sharp clarity of his questions. And he kept his fingers curled inside his trousers, only withdrawing them when we rattled to a stop at a station. The line was not busy at that time of year and we pulled away without anyone intruding upon our solitude.

Holmes immediately thrust his hand back into his lap with a quiet sigh of relief.  “We are clear now for the next forty-three miles, so you will forgive me if I indulge.”

He certainly did that. Sometimes the rapid movement of his fist pulled a gasp from him and at other times I could detect no motion at all beneath the cloth, but he never desisted entirely until those forty-three miles had passed. There was a longer stop this time. One which forced Holmes to fasten up his trousers over his erection. He grimaced as he did so, shifting uncomfortably his seat.  “I really don’t want to stop simulating myself, but perhaps a break is advisable at this stage.”

“Yes, certainly, if there is a risk that you may…” I cleared my throat. “We ought to go and get some refreshment, old chap, I’m starving and I need to use the facilities at the station.”

Holmes was tetchy and impatient throughout luncheon. At his insistence we were the first ones back on the train, but that only meant we had to wait for the other passengers to board. Holmes reached down and squeezed his groin, an action that shocked even me.

“For heaven’s sake, Holmes! Can’t you wait until we’re out of the station?”

“I need to touch my prick.” His long fingers drummed on the arm of the seat and his other hand flexed, kneading himself through his trousers. “Come on, come on, will you?”

He was…the word springs to mind and even after all this time I shy away from it. But yes, he was beautiful like that. Dark hair and grey eyes, with his red lip caught between his white teeth.

We moved at last gathering a pace of speed. The woods had barely canopied the sky above us before his hand was back in his trousers. Holmes pumped himself furiously. Then he wrenched his hand free. “Good God, I’m near.”

“When…when did you last spend yourself?”

“Just a mere three weeks ago. I did not mean to emit on that occasion and I certainly do not intend to lose anymore semen today.”

The obvious answer was to tell him to stop masturbating. To say that it was a disgraceful and dangerous habit and that he would inevitably emit semen at some point if he continued to abuse himself. The rattle of the train struck through my bones and to the heart of my shame. I could not imagine what it must feel like to him. “If you want to retain your essence you will have to be careful not to over-excite yourself.”

He tutted. “I know that.” Holmes slipped his hand into his trousers again. “It is somewhat like playing the violin; the temptation is to give one’s self over entirely to the music, but if all reason is lost one may so easily strike a wrong note.” He sighed and lifted his buttocks from the seat for a moment. “The wretched thing is determined to be my undoing.”

I moistened my dry lips. “Then you must limit your touches, Holmes, slow and light, if you don’t want to trigger an emission.”

“Ah, but I do want. I ache for release, for the pulsating joy of emission and yet it feels so heavenly…” He groaned in the same instant as I saw his hand move. “To caress myself like this, all the warnings in the world will not convince me that this isn’t the most exquisite…” Holmes groaned again. “Oh, Watson, the sensations are quite delightful.”

I watched avidly. There it is said, I watched. Avidly. My gaze flying between the movement inside his trousers and the rapture on his face. I savoured every tiny moan and sigh that fell from his lips to lance into my groin. Yet my own perverse desire was nothing compared to his captivating arousal.

“Slowly,” I told him again.

“Or not at all.” His white hand clenched on his thigh. He turned his gaze towards the green countryside. “I must have a few moments respite.”

The newspapers had slid unheeded to the carriage floor. I scooped one up and opened a page at random. “Listen to this, Holmes.” It was an account of an unremarkable burglary in Northampton, but it served to take his mind off his desperate arousal.

“Read me another article,” said Holmes when I had finished, but his hand had crept back to his groin.

I read two more articles, one about the disappearance of a publican’s daughter where foul play was suspected and one about a tragic carriage accident. When I looked up his trousers were wide open and I saw the purple head of his prick protruding from his fist. His eyes followed my transfixed gaze down to his lap. “Oh, Watson, it aches with wanting.” Suddenly he turned himself about so that he crouched on all fours on the seat with his rampant erection swaying shamelessly between his legs. The lovely thing jerked wildly and a low groan escaped him. “I need to rub myself on the seat…just for a few moments.”

“You’ll spend yourself if you do,” I said thickly. My heart hammered. I was torn between wishing to see him lose control and an equally strong desire for him to continue this self torment.

Holmes had already lowered himself on the seat. He undulated his hips, thrusting into it. A mingled cry of delight and despair was torn from his throat. “Watson, for God’s sake don’t let me have an emission.” He thrust harder. “Please, don’t let me…”

I stood up, braced myself against the rocking of the carriage and crossed the narrow distance between us. I tumbled down next to his dark head. Holmes still pushed his pelvis frantically against the plaid covered seat. I grasped his shoulders and tried to lever him up. “Turn over, Holmes. Now, before it’s too late.”

He rolled onto his back with a great groan. His prick quivered, oozing clear fluid from the tip.  When he reached for it I caught both his hands in mine and held them tightly. “No,” I told him firmly. “Remember, you cannot afford to lose your semen. Think of the damage repeated emissions will do to your great mind.”

Holmes strained every muscle, arching his spine up off the seat and then he slumped down with his head upon my knee. “Oh God, I’m so very near…”

“Just rest and the urgency will ease,” I promised him. I stroked his hair back off his forehead and bestowed a chaste kiss on his brow.  “We’ll reach the next station soon anyway, so there really isn’t time.”

Holmes laughed breathlessly. “I could spend myself in a heartbeat.”

“And you would be depleted afterwards.”

“I know and yet still I want it. Nature is a harsh mistress, my friend.”

“Perhaps she is, but I never knew Sherlock Holmes to be defeated by a woman.”

He chuckled at that and swung his legs to the floor. His unsated member bobbed between them. I yearned to touch it, but I had never done so and I dare not ask him to permit it now when it might so easily drive him over the edge. Holmes fell back in the seat with his eyes closed. He held out his hand for mine. Then to my surprise he raised it to his lips. “I will make myself decent as soon as I am able to,” he said, “but we are not due to meet our client until tomorrow morning. So tonight, when we retire to our hotel room would you help me to maintain control?  I mustn’t have another emission so soon after the last one.”

“I’ll try to help you, Holmes.”  My voice shook with lust and anticipation. This was our secret life together, far from the prying eyes of the public.

Little more need be said of our journey, nor do I need to describe the hotel or the pleasant elderly surgeon with whom I chatted in the smoking room.  We retired early and Holmes was already semi-aroused by the time we reached our bedroom. The swelling of his penis was clearly visible when he stripped off his garments.  He stretched out on the bed and began to stroke himself without further ado.

I quickly went to draw the curtains across the picture windows although there was nothing before us but dusk draped hills. A light flickered, so distance that I could not have said whether it was farmstead or ship. He was there, reflected in the glass, all pale limbs with his dark flushed prick standing up between his thighs. That mirror image of him held me entranced and I saw his ghost hands clutch in the bed sheets, denying himself any touch. 

“Talk to me,” he commanded.

I did. I talked of the fantastic and the commonplace, of an article I had read about flying machines and another on colour photography. I recited my conversation with the Aberdeen surgeon between sips of whisky to lubricate my throat. There was that argument I had with my tailor and the last race at Lincoln which had netted me ten guineas. It was a perfectly ordinary conversation, if Holmes had not been lying there naked with a hard prick and if his replies were not punctuated by tiny sighs and murmurs.

 “I don’t know how you can bear not to touch yourself,” I blurted out.

“I may begin when the church clock strikes the half-hour." He had his arms wrapped tightly around his torso.

By my reckoning he had another twelve minutes to wait. I rambled on, trying to distract him from his arousal, but we were both acutely aware of it. It made me jump when the clock sounded over our conversation. Holmes let out a long breath and reached for his erection before the last chime had died away. His hips arched up and he pulled on himself so rapidly I was certain he was going to emit. Then he stopped as abruptly, collapsing back onto the bed with a whimper.

“Oh heavens, every touch is a blissful agony.” Holmes pressed his buttocks down into the bed. “Oh, Watson…”

“Just take it easy, old chap.” I pulled at my stiff collar to loosen it. “You need to use a very light hand and stop the instant you feel that you’re going to spend yourself.”

Holmes took my advice. He pumped himself maddeningly slowly, sometimes merely tracing a fingertip up and down his trembling length. Still he writhed and groaned, and I drank in the sight of him, all wafer-thin pretence of disinterest abandoned. He fascinated me and when he said my name, frantic and needy, I was a moth, cinder-burnt in his flame.

I had lit the oil lamps to cast out the invading shadows when he stood up shakily. He paced about with his prick held in his fist. Holmes swung around, with his legs spread and his knees bent he manipulated himself quickly. “I want to spend myself. Oh God, please…”  His hand moved even faster. “No. No. No.…”

“That’s enough, Holmes!”

His eyes were feverish and unfocused, but his hand faltered, fisted and slammed into the wall. “For the love of Christ, why won’t it relent?”

“It will if you stop touching yourself.” I said, stating the obvious.

“I don’t want to stop.” His laugh was half a groan. “Nor do I want to have an emission. So I am caught between the devil and the deep blue sea, am I not, Watson?”

“Indeed you are.” My hands gripped the chair arms. I wanted to get up and go to him, but I did not dare. If I did the abyss would open under my feet and drag me down. “If you mean to continue then you should remember that lost of semen can lead to physical enfeeblement and mental impairment, with the adverse effects increasing under the strain of repeated emissions.”

 “I know.” He moistened his cracked lips. “Why then does my body crave it? What cruel trick of nature is that?”

“One which is designed to ensure the continuation of the human race, I suspect.”

He made an angry, dismissive gesture. “That is something I have no desire to do.”

I shrugged. “Unfortunately nature does not differentiate.”

“Then I shall have to differentiate for it.” Holmes returned his masturbation. At first he sat on the sofa, but he was on his feet in a couple of minutes.  The lamplight lent a glow to his white skin; a sheen of amber down his spine that fanned over the curve of his buttocks. It picked out the hard buds of his nipples and the scattering of dark hair on his chest and thighs.   It lingered, as did my eyes, over the thicket of hair at his groin. His testicles nestled there, taut and swollen, and his prick reared up above them. If he had stood still long enough I could have counted every vein that stood out on the flushed column of his manhood.

Only he did not stand still. He turned his way and that like a caged animal. Stop. Start. Stop. Start.  Using his hand to torture himself and when that wasn’t enough he grabbed a cushion and straddled it on the sofa back, thrusting frantically until my urgent warning penetrated his lust fuddled brain.  Holmes let the cushion drop to the floor, but his hips canted against the air. He moaned. “Oh God, I want to emit.”

“That’s exactly what you will do if you don’t stop now.” My voice was thick in my throat and my groin hurt. I had never seen him so desperate to spend himself.

His gaze flicked to the clock on the mantelpiece. “At the quarter hour.”

That was seven minutes away. “Not a second more.”

“Not one,” Holmes promised. He stroked his prick and groaned. “Oh, Christ, it hasn’t eased at all” Holmes thrust his hips forward.  “I want to emit. I want to emit! Oh, God, please…Watson, help me.”

I went to him then and that was his ruination. It all happened so swiftly that I barely had time to register it. Holmes threw his arms around me and locked his thighs over mine. I felt his hot breath on my cheek and the shove, shove of his prick on my leg. He moaned, rutting wildly and I tried in vain to disentangle myself from him. Then he growled low in his throat and I knew that he was lost.

“Oh God, I’m going to emit!” He spasmed in my arms and his semen pulsed against my thigh. “No. No! Oh…Oh, yes, yes, yes…” His eyes were squeezed shut and he gasped. His fingers clawed into my shoulders. “God, yes!” His whole body shook convulsively.

Then it was over as quickly as it had begun.  Holmes fell onto the bed with his legs curled up and both hands clasped between his thighs. The tirade of curses that split the air were so base and coarse that they shocked me even though I had become accustomed to foul language in the army.

I pulled out my handkerchief and dabbed ineffectually at the semen strains on my trousers. There was no denying that he had lost a lot of fluid.  Holmes lifted his head. “I couldn’t stop the damn thing.”

His cries of joyous relief echoed in my mind. “At least you enjoyed it,” I said foolishly.

His look could have withered stone. “And what price shall I pay for those two minutes of ecstasy?  It is the second time this month that I have lost control and spent myself. It simply will not do, Watson.”

“How do you feel now, old fellow?” I doubted that his violent emission had caused any permanent damage, but he was right to be wary of the dangers of repeated ejaculation.  

“Depleted.” Holmes gave a weary sigh. “Lassitude is creeping over me. I simply want to lie down and sleep.”

“Perhaps it wouldn’t do you any harm to rest for a while.” He looked exhausted and we had an early start tomorrow.

“No, I will not succumb to lethargy.” Holmes heaved himself up off the bed. His prick hung limply against his thigh. He stretched his spine and found a half-smile for me. “A brisk walk in the bracing sea air will help me fight off this enfeeblement. Will you accompany me, Watson?”

“Yes, of course.”

I played valet for him and helped him dress. A little shiver went through him when he tucked his sensitive prick into his undergarments and another when he fastened his trousers.

The church clock had just struck ten when we stepped out onto the promenade.  Holmes tucked my arm into his and marched briskly along the seafront. He was determined to out distance the aftereffects of his emission and we walked for six miles along the moonlit cliff path above the thunderous ocean.  I was chilled to the bone by the time we returned to our hotel room. After I had warmed my hands by the fire I poured us both a brandy. We drank it in companionable silence. Then we both shrugged off our clothes and pulled on our nightshirts.

I yawned. “Well, I shall sleep well tonight.”

“As shall I,” Holmes admitted. He sat on the edge of the bed and took a small leather case out of the drawer. “After I have taken precautions to ensure that I do not have a nocturnal emission. I simply cannot afford to lose anymore semen.” He weighted a small metal object in his palm. “Doubtless you are familiar with the jugum penis?”

“Yes, of course.” It was an evil looking thing. An inner band of smooth metal which fitted snugly around the base of a flaccid penis, but if that penis swelled it would impale its self upon an outer ring of sharp metal teeth.  I watched Holmes slip it onto his organ and tighten the screw until it held him captive.

He looked down at his imprisoned penis and a scowl appeared on his face. “There is further evidence, if any were needed, of the debilitation caused by emission. Do you remember how rigid and lusty it was before I spent myself? Now it is weakened and limp. I doubt that it will rise again before morning, but the jugum will bring me to a swift awakening if it does.”  He looked up at me. “I do not hold you responsible for what happened tonight, Watson. However, I must insist that you do not approach me again when I am in extremis, not even if I plead with you to do so.”

“I won’t.” It was not a difficult promise to make. In truth I would rather have watched him masturbate than participate in any sexual acts with him. That does not mean that Holmes was not very dear to me. He was, far more so than my poor wife, from whom all my secret vices and forbidden loves are hidden. And yes, there were times when I yearned to touch him in ways that no man should touch another, but my main joy was in observation.

Holmes’ gaze locked with mine and he nodded slowly, trusting my promise.  Then he smiled and it was a prefect benediction.

Even now I felt the warmth of that smile and it withers my shame, but not my regrets. I am here in respectable matrimony whilst he is lost to the raging waters of Reichenbach and my heart is broken.    

 


End file.
